


Elsewhere in the Temple

by nutmeg223



Series: Runs in the Lineage [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional literacy, Emotionally constipated Jedi, Feelings, Gen, Impassioned Speechifying, Jedi in general need hugs, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Modeling emotional literacy, Modeling healthy adult behaviors, Obi-Wan Kenobi needs a hug, Padawan Obi-Wan, Parent-Child Relationship, People learning to deal with emotions, Side-eyeing Jedi childcare practices, The Archivists, The Healers, The Melodrama is strong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2018-09-21 11:34:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9547391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutmeg223/pseuds/nutmeg223
Summary: All the bits and bobs that don't fit elsewhere, but go with the AU.





	1. When the Archivists Cabal Adopted Obi-Wan

**Author's Note:**

> So, this has been bobbing about in my brain since the start. Not entirely sold on it...but I've been sternly informed that this is what happened, and I need to stop policing other people's emotional states.
> 
> For reference, it's almost 6 months into Obi-Wan's apprenticeship. He's 13, and Mintaerael is 19.

Obi-Wan bit his lip and scanned the shelves again. He _knew_ it had to be around, somewhere it this section, and he was running out of time. He didn't want...well, he _wanted_ help, but he only saw Madame Nu available, and he didn't think he could handle that much sarcasm. Not after his last class...Force but he regretted letting his Master know how bored he was in class, and how easy the work was. The senior Padawans really took exception to his thirteen year old self appearing in their classes. He couldn't _help_ his brain, though.

He sank down to his knees to see if he'd missed it the first three times he looked. He was so _stupid_ ! He should have looked it up, or written down the number when Master showed him. He just wanted a copy of his Master's favorite meditation - the one from his homeworld that he gave into the Archives when he was Knighted. He felt tears prick at his eyes and bit hard on his lip. He didn't have _time_ for such _weakness_!

"Is everything alright down there?"

Obi-Wan startled at the gentle voice, smacking his head on the shelf above.

"Oh, goodness, that has to hurt. You didn't do anything permanent, did you?"

He shook his head. It was rude, but he didn't want _anyone_ to see the tears pooling in his eyes. The back of his head stung unpleasantly. He heard the rustle of robes, and then soft, gentle hands helped him to sit. She brushed a hand over the back of his head, wincing when she felt the small lump forming there.

She definitely wasn't one of the established Archivists. _They_ would have scolded him for carelessness and disturbing the collection. He thought he remembered Bantt comming him on Bandomeer with the latest Temple news - some scandal about the Padawan who'd...returned refusing to have her braid cut at her Knighting, going on her first mission, and then coming back and immediately demanding reassignment. To the Archives, of all places.

"Now, what were you looking for? I'm only an Archivist Initiate, but I might just be able to help. You're Padawan Kenobi, right? Master Jinn's apprentice?"

Obi-Wan nodded again. He didn't quite trust his voice yet.

"You've had quite the time of it, lately, hmm?"

"Not like you haven't," he flashed a quick look at her through his lashes. He _was_ right - it was Mintaerael.

"Yes, well, we can form the Traumatized Jedi Club," the acerbic twist to her words served as warning.

Not that Obi-Wan would push...he didn't like it when anyone tried to pry into things that had happened to him. Anyway, he was pretty sure he'd heard that she only just started talking again. If _he'd_ been sick all over the Council chamber floor after completing _his_ first mission, he was pretty sure it would take him more than 4 months to start talking again. Or leaving his quarters, honestly.

"Pretty big club, huh?" Obi-Wan heard himself mutter before he could stop the words.

"The biggest, if you could get anyone else to join." She sighed, sounding defeated for just a minute. "Now, dove, what are you looking for?"

Obi-Wan startled at the endearment before he managed to gather himself .

"A meditation. Master Jinn gave it into the Archive after his Knighting. I _know_ it's here! He showed me!" He had to bite his lip again at the end, hoping she hadn't seen it wobble 

"Oh, bugger. We moved some of the ephemera down a couple of floors. It's better down there for that kind of thing. We haven't digitized all of it, yet, so it probably didn't show if you searched."

"Oh...I...we've been out of Temple for a couple of months." Obi-Wan hoped he sounded apologetic enough. "Can I -"

"Archivist Hel-Mintaerael, what are you doing _on the floor_?" Madame Nu's cultured tones cut through Obi-Wan's question.

Neither she nor Obi-Wan missed Mintaerael's flinch at the aborted Hel. Obi-Wan couldn't remember her last name, either, but he thought... _why_ would that make anyone flinch?

"I was helping Padawan Kenobi with a bit of research." Mintaerael looked not-at-all perturbed by the obvious disapproval emanating from every line of Madame Nu's body.

He scrambled to his feet as Madame gave Mintaerael a hand up, steadying her until she got her feet under her again.

"Thank you, Madame Nu. Would you allow me to escort Padawan Kenobi downstairs? I think I know where to find what he's looking for."

"Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan hunched his shoulders and stared at his boots. You couldn't return _one thing_ one time, and your name was mud. He had _tried_ , but they needed to leave, and Master told him he should have thought of it earlier. Obi-Wan thought he showed great restraint by not asking if he was supposed to skip a meal or class to account for immediate, emergency missions popping up. Not that anyone appreciated that.

"Madame," Mintaerael spoke lightly. "Do you remember the discussion we had regarding Junior Padawans, their Masters, and unreasonable expectations?"

Madame Nu sniffed.

"I may have been a touch hasty in my assessment of you, Padawan. I will, however, speak to your Master about allowing you to see to your responsibilities _before_ yanking you out of the Temple, again."

"Yes, Madame Nu. Thank you." Although, _what_ his Master would say…

"Now, you go with Archivist Mintaerael, and she'll show you where to look. But, help her on the stairs, please. Her balance has been off since she returned to us. And mind that you don't let her climb up to get anything, or lift anything."

"Yes, ma'am. I will." Obi-Wan felt his heart lift a little bit. Maybe he could have a really good day. Although, he wondered how _he_ was supposed to keep Archivist Mintaerael from doing something.

"Off with you, then. I'll let Master Jinn know where you are. Be careful on the stairs."

Mintaerael snagged him and led him toward a set of doors as Madame Nu stalked off.

"You made her week, Padawan Kenobi. She's been looking for a reason the call Master Jinn on the carpet for _years_. Something to do with him and Master Tahl and the restricted stacks." Mintaerael quirked a grin at him.

Obi-Wan felt his face scrunch up involuntarily. Why were adults so _gross_?

"You and me both, kid." She bumped his shoulder gently. "You won't be in any bother with Master Jinn, will you? For being here when I'm assuming you're meant to be in your quarters, and for Madame Nu?"

Obi-Wan side-eyed her as he took her arm. He'd only just got back into what passed for Madame Nu's good graces; he wasn't about to disobey her _or_ let her most-tolerated apprentice fall down the stairs.

"I don't know why everyone seems to think Master Jinn is so awful to me." He replied, perhaps more sharply than he'd intended, but oh well. 

"You're the newest Padawan of one of the strictest Masters in the Order, I think we have a right to be concerned when the two of you go about feeling like a pair of thunderstorms about to start." Mintaerael shot back. "Sets everyone's teeth aching.  _And_ he's a known proponent of corporal."

"We're _fine_ ." Obi-Wan insisted. "Everything is _fine._ He's about as likely to smack me as I am to do anything  _right_. He only uses it for Senior Padawans, and then only after what sounds like  _years_ of discussion. People need to stop _gossiping_ about us."

"That, you absolute muppet, is about as likely as me cutting off my braid any time soon. You're the hot news at the moment, and don't think I'm not going figure out how to rat you out over thinking you're always wrong."

Obi-Wan scowled and kicked a bit at the next tread, although he was careful of Mintaerael.

"Jedi gossip too much." He grumbled petulantly.

"And 'we're fine, everything is fine' is about as believable coming from you as it would be from me. I have a good deal more sense than that, though."

She bumped his shoulder a little again.

"I...I just need to work harder. I've been…" Somehow, standing on dimly lit stairs with someone who felt warm and comforting in the Force, like Master Qui-Gon's rare pleased smile, made it easier to get the words out.

"The hell with it."

He heard her growl it as the reached the bottom of the stairs.

"You look at me right now, Obi-Wan Kenobi." She grabbed him arm and yanked him around.

Obi-Wan, long used to obeying (and especially _that tone_ ) raised his head to look her in the eye.

"No one has the right to make you feel like a failure, _no one_. I don't care who it is, young man. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Archivist Mintaerael." His voice shook on the words, and he found himself wrapped up in a surprisingly soft hug.

"If your Master is making you feel...if he's said _anything_ to make you feel…"  her voice shook too. "I will make sure someone takes him apart."

"You don't even _know_ me!" Obi-Wan objected from somewhere around her sternum.

"Don't I? Who do you think tagged after Lexit when she helped in the Creche, and then with the Initiates? And it wouldn't matter, anyway, whether I know everything or nothing about you. You are a child of the Jedi. You are one of our children, and you _are_ deserving of protection and care, simply by existing! Any adult of this Order owes you that. Owes all of you that. You deserve to be looked after, and tended to, and helped because you are a person. And we're doing a piss-poor job of it if you're so surprised by a hug."

She let him loose, then, and Obi-Wan took a minute to straighten both tunics and hair. He stared as she pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at suspiciously damp eyes.

"I'm sorry. I'm still all over the place. I shouldn't have dropped all that on your head."

"Did you mean it?" Obi-Wan stared at his boots, noting the scuffed spot from 'saber practice earlier in the day. Maybe his Master would be pleased if he polished his boots too?

"Of course I meant it, muppet. I haven't quite come back to baseline, yet, so I'm a little wobbly and inclined to make impassioned speeches. The Council is Not Appreciative, but at least they're leaving me be." She settled a hand on his shoulder to guide him toward the correct shelving unit.

Obi-Wan bit his lip again. Could he speak such heresy aloud?

"I don't mind...that you meant it. I...most of the younger Knights and Senior Padawans don't want to be bothered with us. Is...are the first months always hard? There's no one to ask, really."

"It depends, really. If you knew your new Master well beforehand, it's not so bad. It's when you're virtual stranger that it gets strained. What's the problem?"

"Just...I can't seem to do _anything_ right. I don't know what he wants and I _want_ to work hard and make him proud of me, but I don't know how!"

The gentle tap on the still-new bond with his Master had him startling badly.

"Not used to check-ins with the bond?"

Obi-Wan nodded.

"Take five deep breaths in and out before you answer. Explain later that you were distressed because you thought you'd be late, but I reminded you of Madame Nu."

"Isn't that lying?" in between breaths.

"Nope. It's self-preservation; you're allowed to have thoughts and feelings all to yourself. He'll feel it when you're upset, since you project like nobody's business right now. Try to talk to him, later though, about how you feel. Ahh, here it is!" She pulled a volume off the shelf and brought it to one of the tables. "We mounted it in with the other ephemera from his year of Knights."

"We won't talk, though. As soon as I say 'feel', we'll be meditating and releasing it to the Force."

"Then you're always welcome in the Archives. I mean it, Obi-Wan. If you're having trouble, or you just need some quiet, I expect you to come find one of us. Let your friends know, too, hmm?"

"I will. But...why?" That was what he didn't understand. The other Knights didn't notice or didn't care or thought feelings led to the Dark Side or thought Padawans were just pesky. They didn't give out hugs or make impassioned speeches about the state of Jedi childcare. Although, he was pretty sure that the Melodrama was just as strong with Mintaerael as the Force.

"Because at one point, the only thing I had to hold onto was this place, and everyone here. Holding onto how I felt...the attachment I had to the Temple and every inhabitant kept me sane and fighting to get back. If I hadn't had that...if I hadn't had all of you to remember, I would have given up. It's heresy, but I let myself love everyone and everything here, from the ground up. All my cohort do, now."

As she spoke, she herded him back toward the stairs and reality. Up there, you had to worry about who might hear. Obi-Wan knew he had to face real life, and do it bravely, but maybe he could tuck that hug and the knowledge that there were respected Jedi seeded throughout the Temple who were experimenting with attachments close in, where it helped keep him warm while he tried for Master Qui-Gon's approval. He could think about it, anyway. Maybe.

He thought he'd probably spend a lot of time in the Archives, between missions.

"You'd better, dove, or we'll come looking for you." Mintaerael took his arm again and let him help her on the stairs.

Could she hear his thoughts?

"First in the list is your sabbacc face, dove. You're showing everything. Not as badly as Davrios, though. He always winds up having to streak back to his quarters post games night.

Or maybe he'd stay far away from any of them, since Archivists seemed like a bad influence.

* * *

Obi-Wan enjoyed the quiet calm of their (their!) lounge as he read through his assigned texts. A cup of tea at his elbow, and his Master (!!!) having a cup of tea in his own big chair only increased his contentment.

"Master?"

"Yes Padawan?"

"What does it mean if a humanoid female feels kind of...lumpy in the middle?"

His only answer was the sound of Qui-Gon choking and spluttering on a sip of tea gone down wrong.

"Padawan!" He scolded, completely non-plussed and trying not to laugh.

"What?" Obi-Wan's brow furrowed in confusion. "Master, no! Not like  _that_! Not like, like, like...breasts." He felt his cheeks go scarlet. He couldn't believe...not yet six months Master Jinn's Padawan, and he'd said  _breasts_ in front of the man.

"Well, then," Qui-Gon cleared his throat again. "I fear that my tunic is a lost cause this evening, although thankfully your manners are not. While I change, Padawan, please go put on your pajamas. When you're done, come out and pour us both some fresh tea."

Space...space would be good. And five minutes where he could laugh silently. No need to embarrass Obi-Wan further. The poor boy leached a combination of mortification and horror already.

Obi-Wan took the few minutes after Master Qui-Gon departed to make sure nothing had spilled on the furniture or floor before he went to do as he was told. He couldn't believe that he'd been so unthinkingly almost crude! And he'd made his Master choke! He'd had such an unexpectedly good, if sort of weird, day. He couldn't _believe_ he'd been so distracted that he didn't think about his words. He just needed to stop and think more. That's what all his Masters up until now told him; he needed to get his head out of the clouds and use his brain. He just had to do better, that was all.

Such rumination brought him back to the lounge. He poured fresh cups of tea, and even had time to wash their previous cups and set them to drain. That was better. Helpful and responsible and useful were good. He settled back in the chair he'd quickly claimed as his own and waited for his Master. Would he be upset? He hadn't seemed upset, but Obi-Wan knew that didn't mean _anything_. 

Finally, Master Qui-Gon returned and settled into his chair again.

"Thank you, Padawan for doing exactly as I asked, and for tidying up. It's good to see young people taking responsibility and initiative."

"Thank you, Master." Obi-Wan answered respectfully, though relief flooded through him. He'd done the right thing!

"Now, Padawan, what were you asking about before?"

"Um, Archivist Mintaerael helped me this afternoon, since I was looking for things that they'd moved into storage, and I tripped and bumped into her. Her middle felt...I don't know. I know she used to be flat, because we'd watch the Senior Padawans in the salles. She kept her robe closed, too."

So, it wasn't the exact truth, but it was close enough. He didn't know where his Master stood on hugging. Most Jedi frowned on such an emotional display, although Obi-Wan always thought it was more the touching than anything else. He watched as his Master frowned and stroked his beard.

"She's not dying, is she? Madame Nu was insistent that I help her on the stairs and not let her climb to get anything or lift anything. They said her balance hadn't been so good since she...came back."

Master Qui-Gon looked thoughtful for another full minute before he spoke.

"I'll comm Madame Nu tomorrrow, Padawan, and check. I believe, though, that she is as well as can be expected."

"Thank you, Master. She was very helpful, and very kind about it, too." There, that should calm some of the guilt for fibbing a bit about the hug.

"That's good to know, Padawan. I'll make sure I pass that on to Madame Nu. Now, I believe it is time for my Padawan to find his bed. You have a busy day tomorrow, and I won't have you grouching about due to lack of sleep."

"Yes, Master. Good night Master." As much as he liked sitting quietly with Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan felt more than ready for bed. Maybe the Council frowned so on feelings because they were flat exhausting?

"Good night Padawan."

Obi-Wan immediately headed to his room. He wished, just for a moment, that Qui-Gon would follow to make sure he was in bed. But those thoughts wouldn't do. He was a Jedi Padawan-learner, and there wasn't any tucking in or coddling. Chreche-lings got tucked in, not thirteen-year-old Padawans. He climbed under the covers and pulled them up to his ears.

Maybe tomorrow could be a good day, too, even if the good came with some weird.


	2. Enter Mr. Hadri

"Please, Master, Grandmaster Yoda has asked for Padawan Kenobi's presence." The senior Padawan bowed respectfully as she spoke, interrupting Obi-Wan's Galactic History class.

"Kenobi, you heard her. Gather your things. Your assignment will be commed to your Master."

"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master." Obi-Wan gathered his things neatly together and slipped out of his seat. He tried to ignore the whispering from the other Padawans. Honestly, you forgot your assignment due to planetary civil war one time...

He followed the senior Padawan out of the room, waiting when she turned and looked down at him. She sighed.

"You're wanted in the Entry receiving room. You can get there without an escort, right?"

"Of course, Senior Padawan-" Obi-Wan stopped, suddenly realizing that he had no idea what her name was.

"It's Tanis, Kenobi. You're in my AstroNav class, screwing the curve."

Obi-Wan felt his shoulders hunch, even though she laughed a little as she said it.

"I...um. I'll just…" he stammered.

"Just let me study with you before the next exam, kid." She tweaked his braid, but not hard.

"Of course! Just let me know, and I'll make sure it's okay with my Master." He couldn't help but feel brighter at that.

"Good, now get going. Master Yoda didn't seem like he wanted to wait."

"See you!" Obi-Wan chirped, and immediately wanted to smack himself. Couldn't he ever just be normal?

"Move it." But she grinned at him as she turned him around and gave him a soft shove.

Apparently, she didn't mind too-smart weird people.

He moved, wanting to find Master Yoda quickly. Thankfully, both he and the reception room were on the first floor. He didn't want to keep anyone waiting. He didn't run, but he still had to stop to catch his breath and straighten his tunics before he entered the room. He squinted in the dim lighting, making out Master Yoda and his Master...and Mr. Hadri? Another man sat across the table, looking annoyed.

"Arrived, Padawan Kenobi has." Yoda announced.

Obi-Wan swallowed hard as all eyes turned to him.

"That's the boy?" The annoyed man sneered at him. "Very well, I want him removed as soon as possible. It's clear that he's dangerous, even if he's...short."

"Master?" Obi-Wan asked faintly, his stomach clenching on nerves as he fell back a step. The man looked a little familiar, although Obi-Wan wasn't sure where he might have seen him.

"Come here, Padawan. We have a few questions for you."

Hearing Qui-Gon's voice, calm and warm, not upset with him in the least, and feeling his Master's presence soothing across their bond helped. He crossed to stand next to his Master, stopping only to bow politely to Master Yoda and their guests.

"Thank you, Obi-Wan."

"I don't understand why you're even asking him anything. I'm a Senator, and boys his age lie constantly." The man continued, aggrieved.

"Lie, our younglings do not. Know, we would. Answer our questions, Padawan Kenobi will." Yoda stopped that line of complaint cold.

"Yes, Master Yoda." Obi-Wan couldn't quite keep the quiver out of his voice.

"You were in Mr. Hadri's tea shop yesterday afternoon, correct?" Qui-Gon asked gently.

"Yes, Master. The Archives were too noisy, and I needed somewhere quiet to study. I had that AstroNav exam this morning." Obi-Wan took heart at Qui-Gon's tone.

"And there were some other boys there, as well?"

"Yes, Master. I...oh, dear. Mr. Hadri, there wasn't any damage to your shop, was there?"

"No, Padawan Kenobi, no worries." Mr. Hadri winked at him. "Thank you for your concern, though."

"Damage, Padawan?" Qui-Gon broke in. "Can you explain what happened yesterday?"

"There were some boys who came in, fooling around, while Mr. Hadri was in the back. I was worried they'd break one of the tables since they're all inlaid glass that Mr. Hadri's son Avir and Mrs. Hadri made, so I got the table out of their way and then got in between them. I didn't want anyone to get hurt, and they were going to if they kept it up. I may have told them not to come back, though? I'm sorry about that, Mr. Hadri. It wasn't my place."

"I think you're leaving out the part where you threatened my son and his friends with your lightsaber," the Senator growled. "My Alic was very clear on what happened to him."

Obi-Wan's stomach dropped, and his breath seized in his chest. Drawing his saber...in public...without a direct threat to his life...he could be expelled from the Order. He could...his hands shook at the thought as cold horror washed over him. He gripped the arm of Qui-Gon's chair to keep upright. To be accused of that sort of breach of discipline...

"Master, Master, I swear I...I wouldn't, it's...that's…they were just boys!" he trailed off, breathing hard.

"Just boys?!" Obi-Wan jumped as the Senator slapped his hand flat on the table."If they're just boys, young man, then what are you?"

Obi-Wan found himself quite unable to answer, his breath not wanting to cooperate with him.

"Breathe, Padawan, breathe. Here," Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan's hand to him, settling it over his heart. "Breathe with me, young one. All will be well."

"And leaving aside whether or not Padawan Kenobi would do such a thing, he couldn't, even if he wished to." Mr. Hadri set out a portable holo player as he spoke. "Any patron carrying a weapon is asked to lock it in a storage locker at the back of the shop, if they're staying. Padawan Kenobi is extremely conscientious about it, and much more polite than most adults. He didn't have his saber to draw. I have the security footage with me."

"Allow this, do you?" Yoda glanced at Qui-Gon, eyes narrowed. "Allow your Padawan to put his life in a locker, do you?"

"He's quite safe having a cup of tea and studying, Master." Qui-Gon answered mildly, his attention focused on Obi-Wan, who had finally calmed somewhat. "And, in any case, the lockers wouldn't stand much of a chance against a determined Force user, and Obi-Wan always selects a seat close to them."

The reassurance Qui-Gon poured through their bond helped as much as feeling his breath. Obi-Wan felt his panic recede slowly, leaving shame at his lack of control in its wake. But, Qui-Gon curved an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close, coddling him, really. Obi-Wan's cheeks heated a bit at the intimacy of it, and in front of everyone, too!

"I think we're missing the point, which is that your delinquent apprentice terrorized my son and his friends."

"Many things Padawan Kenobi is, but delinquent he is not." Master Yoda accompanied each word with a tap of his gimer stick on the floor.

"I'll just play the security feed." Mr. Hadri cut in before an argument could start. He recognized the tone of it, and Jedi or not, Master Yoda sounded one step away from "insult my child, will you?" and then fisticuffs.

Obi-Wan could hardly believe that everyone wanted to defend him. Only a few months ago he'd have been out in his ear...well, maybe not, because he thought Master Yoda would have defended him and maybe his Master would have too. Before his apprenticeship, though. Anyway, it felt nice to have people sticking up for him. He watched the security feed from the safety of his Master's embrace, with Qui-Gon's warmth and...and pride in him leaching over their bond.

The blue-tinted figures played out as Obi-Wan said. He watched himself scoot out of his booth, slide a table out of the way, and then get in the middle of the roughhousing boys. He winced watching it again; he'd forgotten that they were all a head taller than him. He wondered if he'd be in trouble for getting in over his head, literally. Master wanted him to slow down and think. He watched himself point, and then the three boys shuffled out of sight.

"I think we can agree that Padawan Kenobi acted quickly and in defense of a local businessman's shop. He hardly terrorized anyone, although I can see why your son might have been embarrassed enough to make something up." Qui-Gon spoke quietly, and not without sympathy, but he sounded very done.

"I am sorry for losing my temper, sir. It's a failing of mine, and I should have had more patience, AstroNav notwithstanding." Maybe the Senator wouldn't care, but Obi-Wan felt it important to acknowledge his faults.

"I'll see myself out. Clearly, there's been some misunderstanding." The Senator ignored Obi-Wan as he rose and all-but-stomped out of the room.

"I'll see myself out as well. Thank you for your help yesterday, young man. Your elders ought to be proud of you."

The warmth and approval in Mr. Hadri's voice made Obi-Wan's eyes sting a little, although he tried to ignore it. Soon, he and Qui-Gon were alone with Master Yoda.

"Speak, we will, of why your Padawan seeks quiet elsewhere." Yoda accompanied the statement with a swipe of his stick aimed at Qui-Gon's shins.

"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon prompted.

"It...it's too loud sometimes, Master Yoda. Not the noise, exactly, but...I don't know how to explain, exactly. It feels too loud, even if everyone is quiet. It's midterms right now, and the Archives might be silent, but they're too loud, too." He wasn't explaining it properly, he could tell.

"Work on shielding, you will, Padawan Kenobi. Seek refuge with others you must not. Work with me, you will."

"Yes, Master Yoda." Obi-Wan bowed his head as he agreed. He would miss afternoons spent studying in the quiet shop.

"Master, there's no harm in Obi-Wan finding quiet elsewhere. He's a responsible boy, and Mr. Hadri's shop is within the shadow of the Temple. I think it might be built over one of the lower levels, actually. Why don't we go together soon, before you bar him from it?"

"Important, this is?"

"I feel it might be wise for the members of our Order to be well-known to Coruscanti citizens, and especially the shop owners. We're a closed Order, for the most part, but we must have contact with everyone, not just the leaders. For Obi-Wan, Mr. Hadri might someday be an important ally."

Obi-Wan wondered how much of the argument was Qui-Gon's belief in actually talking to people, and how much was that Mr. Hadri brewed the best tea on Coruscant. He knew attachment was forbidden (although the Deep Stacks had some interesting reading on that), but he also knew if Mr. Hadri ever closed his doors there would be a great number of upset Jedi.

"Hmph, visit we will, before a decision is made. But alone Padawan Kenobi is not to go. Vulnerable, he will be, no matter how close the shop is. Avoided, this could have been, if supervised, Kenobi was."

"Yes, Master Yoda. I'll make sure I'm not alone in the future." Why he could stay alone on Melida/Daan but not walk five minutes to have a cup of tea in the Republic's capital, he figured, would forever be a mystery.

"Thank you, Master. If I'm unavailable, I'll make certain that Obi-Wan is appropriately chaperoned. And, speaking of going out, I believe that I have a Padawan due a reward." Qui-Gon rose and ushered Obi-Wan ahead of him. "If you'll excuse us, Master, I think it's time to introduce Obi-Wan to one of my favorite street markets."

Yoda made an annoyed noise. Obi-Wan surreptitiously got his shins out of striking range.

"If sleep he cannot, your fault will it be, young one."

"Yes, Master. I think we'll walk. Obi-Wan, go and get your cloak and meet me in the Entry hall. Quickly, now." Qui-Gon seemed blithely unaware of Yoda's irritation.

Obi-Wan bowed to both Masters and went, feeling much better than he had. As soon as the Senator started talking, he feared he'd be sent away, no matter how much better he and Master Qui-Gon got along after The Vision. He knew his Master probably wanted to talk to Master Yoda about him, but he couldn't bring himself to worry. Not when Master Qui-Gon was taking him out!

"Sugar you will not feed him in excess!" The sound of gimer stick finally striking shin sped Obi-Wan on his way.

He really wondered about Yoda's lineage and sugar, sometimes


	3. The flu, the flu 103.2

The soft sound of his door sliding open woke Qui-Gon from a deep sleep. He rolled up onto his elbow, dislodging blankets, to stare at his disheveled Padawan. His disheveled Padawan whom he'd sent to bed hours ago, and who ought to have been deeply asleep himself. He squashed his first, instinctive reaction to scold Obi-Wan for disobedience and waited.

"Master?" the raspy whisper brought him up sharply.

"Yes, Padawan?"

"Master, I don't feel well." The combination of a sniffle and Obi-Wan scrubbing at his eyes killed any residual irritation at being awakened so suddenly.

He rolled out of bed and padded across to his small Padawan, inwardly rejoicing despite his worry. Obi-Wan had never come to him like that before, which meant his Padawan had likely dealt with any number of nightmares, illnesses, and worries on his own for almost a year. But Obi-Wan _trusted_ him, now. Obi-Wan had come to him for comfort instead of gritting his teeth and gutting is out on his own. The action spoke volumes of the work they'd done together to repair their relationship and their bond after The Vision.

He pulled Obi-Wan into a hug, resting one hand on the back of his neck to check his temperature before rubbing his back. Obi-Wan drooped against him, sniffling and wheezing slightly as he breathed. Qui-Gon winced at the heat coming off Obi-Wan, and scooped the boy up onto his hip. It might hurt his dignity, but he certainly wasn't going very far on his own.

"Master!" the whining objection brought on a fit of wet-sounding coughing.

"I know, little spark, it's terribly undignified. Just bear with me, hmm? We need to see what that temperature is." He toted Obi-Wan to the 'fresher and balanced him on the counter for a moment.

It took a few minutes to find the thermometer in the drawer, but he finally got the probe into Obi-Wan's ear. Obi-Wan leaned against his chest, wheezing more after his coughing fit.

"It seems you caught what all the children had on our last mission, dear one." Qui-Gon winced at the reading on the thermometer. Not dangerously high, but Obi-Wan would _not_ be feeling well for a while.

"Not a _child_ , Master," Obi-Wan muttered as he fisted his hand on Qui-Gon's sleep shirt.

"By their standards, you were, although you were a very great help to me," he didn't dare comment that his fourteen (and a _half_ !) year old Padawan _was_ a child. "Let's get you some water, and then you'll come to bed with me, I think. I don't like the sound of that wheeze," he kept his voice quiet, pitched low to soothe sore ears.

Obi-Wan rested listlessly against him, sniffling softly at intervals. Luckily, he could navigate the kitchen one-handed. He grabbed a mug instead of a glass and filled it from the tap. Hooking a chair out from the table, he settled into it with Obi-Wan in his lap and offered him the mug. Obi-Wan tried to get his shaking hands around it, but Qui-Gon pulled them back down gently with his free hand.

"No, little spark, you're much too shaky. Let me help you. We want water in you, not on you."

Obi-Wan whined a little, but allowed Qui-Gon to hold the mug to his lips. He sipped carefully, wincing as even water aggravated his sore throat. That decided Qui-Gon.

"I'm calling your Healers, Padawan. You shouldn't be in so much pain you can't swallow."

"Master, they'll be sleeping!" Obi-Wan rasped, plucking at Qui-Gon's sleeve.

But Qui-Gon paid his objections no mind, comming Arthane.

"Better be a 'mergency," she answered, sounding frazzled.

"Obi-Wan came down with whatever was going through the children on our last mission. He's running a fever, wheezing, and his throat hurts too much for him to swallow properly." Qui-Gon reported.

"Gimme five. Be there soon."

She signed off to the sound of something heavy falling over in the background. He'd have to ask how her night was going. She would, he knew, arrive quickly, ready for anything from the common cold to a full-scale epidemic. While they waited, he tried to get more water into Obi-Wan, with minor success.

"You're doing very well, my light. You're being so brave for me," Qui-Gon murmured, rubbing Obi-Wan's back.

"Notta creche-ling," Obi-Wan grumbled.

"Everyone deserves praise for doing something difficult," Qui-Gon replied, tucking Obi-Wan closer. "You're behaving very well for me, and I'm proud of you."

Obi-Wan hid his face, tucking his head under Qui-Gon's chin. Qui-Gon rocked a bit, hoping the motion would soothe some of Obi-Wan's physical misery. Sooner than he expected, the door chimed. Arthane walked in a moment later, sporting her robes over pajamas and some truly impressive bedhead, but carrying her bag. She dropped it on the the table, crouching down to get a good look at Obi-Wan.

"Oh, you are _not_ going to feel well for a while, dear heart," she looked up at Qui-Gon. "You were just on Mirlaes 4, weren't you?"

"Yes, and most of the children were ill."

"Ridian flu. He's already starting to come up with the rash. Thankfully, it's not one of the itchy ones, but I'm going to have to quarantine you two for his protection until it's gone." Arthane reached into her bag and came up with several items.

"This," she explained, pointing to a larger device, "is for breathing treatments, but you've used one before. Obi-Wan loathes it, but Ridian flu needs an inhaled medication or his breathing will get worse. Three times a day, and the meds are loaded already." She held up a jar. "These are for his bath. Stick one in the water and let it fizz. The vapors will help the congestion. And this little guy," here she fitted a medical bracelet onto Obi-Wan's wrist, "monitors his oxygen levels. The danger with Ridian flu is the co-infection. He shouldn't spike a higher fever, so if he does, or his breathing gets worse and this little bugger goes off, you comm me immediately and rush him to Halls. Am I understood?" somehow, even in pajamas she managed an air of total command.

"Of course, Healer Arthane. I'll take good care of him."

"You had better, if you don't want Minty here glaring at you," Arthane rummaged in her bag again, coming up with a bottle. "We'll get a dose of this into him now, and I'll leave the bottle for you. Every four to six hours."

"Considering that she once threatened to 'saber me in the face over something much less serious, I'm not sure that I want to know what she'd do." Qui-Gon's wry smile got an answering one from Arthane. "She even offered to bring her own step ladder."

Obi-Wan took one look at the bottle, groaned piteously, and tucked his face back into Qui-Gon's shoulder.

"Oh no," Arthane sighed. "We're not having an argument. It'll help your throat, and you know it. C'mon, kiddo, down the hatch."

Obi-Wan shook his head, gripping Qui-Gon's tunic.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon forced himself to be stern, despite wanting nothing more than to coddle his boy. "You're going to behave yourself, right now."

Slowly, so slowly, Obi-Wan lifted his head to look at them with the most woebegone expression possible. Qui-Gon felt his resolve falter, but Arthane just poured a dose into the cap and helped Obi-Wan down it quickly. Qui-Gon picked up the mug of water again and offered it to his spluttering Padawan. Obi-Wan drank gratefully, only wincing a bit this time.

"Thank you, dear one," Qui-Gon pressed a kiss to the top of Obi-Wan's head. "We'll get you feeling better soon, you'll see."

 "Loathe this," Obi-Wan rasped, drooping against Qui-Gon's chest again.

 "I know, kid," Arthane patted his knee. "You rest up and take your meds, and you'll feel better soon."

 "Is everything alright with you?" Qui-Gon shifted Obi-Wan to a more comfortable position and debated whether or not using the Force to make tea could be counted as frivolous. "I heard-"

 "Hells," Arthane muttered, packing a few things away. "Minty is having a bad night, and so is 'Khet, so she's at Mr. Hadri's with Dare, and Dav is helping me with Mints. And 'Khet having a bad time of it is what kicked off our Mints, so no one is getting a lot of sleep, and 'Khet's all guilty. We've got some weird, virulent rash-based thing going through the Initiates, and some type of dysentery in the Toddler nursery, and I don't think I've slept for more than two hours at a time for _weeks_ . And I'm so _stretched_ right now that I might as well be talking to a wall. I _could_ be talking to a wall, actually. You might be an elaborate sleep-deprivation induced hallucination."

 That decided him.

 "Sit down. You're at least going to have a cup of tea and a few minutes of quiet," his tone brooked no protest.

 Arthane dropped into one of the other chairs and let her head thump on the tabletop. Qui-Gon stood and shifted Obi-Wan back to his hip so he could make tea. Arthane would...possibly not even notice, given her current state. And in any case, Obi-Wan just curled closer to him. He really wondered sometimes _why_ the Healers assigned to the Padawans and under were so chronically understaffed. It wouldn't do anyone any good to have some of their brightest burn out through chronic overwork.

 He swayed slightly as he boiled water, warmed the pot, and waited for the tea to brew. It was a soothing blend, one that would travel well so he could put a mug of it together for Mintaerael as well, that went well with honey. He added a generous amount to one mug before he poured, stirring to mix it thoroughly. That would help Obi-Wan's throat, as well as helping him sleep.

 He set Arthane's mug on the table and went back for the other, stopping to pour the remainder of the tea into a travel vessel. He topped up the water in it before he sat again, cuddling Obi-Wan close.

 He let Arthane alone, but watched to make sure she actually picked up her mug and sipped.

 "Oh, this is lovely, thank you."

 "You're quite welcome. It's the least I can do since you came down so quickly. I'll send the rest of the pot back with you, as well. It's a blend I find helpful on difficult nights." His demons were his own, but she looked like she needed someone who understood.

 "Thank you, Master Jinn. I don't think you know what…" she trailed off, staring into her mug.

 Qui-Gon let her lapse into quiet, focussing on trying to get some of the honeyed tea into his exhausted Padawan. Obi-Wan sipped a bit, clearly trying to do as Qui-Gon wanted him to, but soon rested his head against Qui-Gon's shoulder and dropped into sleep.

 "He should be out, now, for a while," Arthane shifted as if to get up.

 "Finish your tea," Qui-Gon pitched his voice low, but he didn't think anything less than a herd of bantha would wake Obi-Wan. "And thank you for coming out tonight."

 "It's Obi-Wan, Master Jinn. Mints would cheerfully kill me if I didn't help."

 "I also haven't thanked any of you for taking Obi-Wan under your wing. And not just Obi-Wan, as I noticed you included his friends as well. It helps immensely knowing that there are others watching out for him, and people he can go to for advice or help."

 And not just that. He'd seen how they rearranged plans so that they would be appropriate for the younger set. He didn't have to worry about Obi-Wan being exposed to anything he wasn't ready for, because his child had found himself a Cohort of rabidly protective older siblings.

 "We don't want...um, that is...I...you should really speak to Mintaerael."

 Even in the dim light, he could see Arthane flush as she looked into the depths of her mug.

 "As Obi-Wan's Healer, I'm going to be terribly boring and say that you should get him into bed and get some sleep yourself. You're going to find that he's extremely clingy when he's sick like this, not that I can blame him. He won't whine, but he'll want to be kept close."

 "Thank you for the warning." He was reminded, again, that she'd helped raise the boy so dear to him.

 "And, if you need a break, please comm me or Mints. We'll make sure that someone will be by to keep Obi-Wan company. Even if you don't want to leave him, but need some quiet. And Mints will probably be by tomorrow to stock your kitchen."

 "I'm...pardon?" Who _were_ these people? And how had he managed before with a sick Padawan?

 "Minty will be by to make sure you're stocked up. So you don't have to worry about it. Madame Nu has her off-duty this week, so she'll be happy to help."

 "Thank you."

 "I'd better get back. Comm if you need _anything_ Master Jinn." Arthane tidied her mug into the sink and snagged the travel pot before shouldering her bag. "I'll see myself out. Get to bed."

 "I will. And thank you." Obi-Wan snuffled against his neck before settling into an even more boneless state.

Quiet descended as the door shut behind Arthane. Qui-Gon rose slowly, Obi-Wan draped against his chest like a sleeping lothcat. He made his way back to his room, stopping only for Obi-Wan's pillow and the little stuffed bantha he thought no one knew he still had. He settled Obi-Wan into his bed, propping him up with the extra pillow, and slipped in himself. Obi-Wan snored lightly, cuddling his lumpy toy. Slowly, Qui-Gon let sleep steal over him, and the deep quiet of night returned.


	4. Revolution's Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little bunny bit and wouldn't let go.
> 
> Also known as "why you don't send unchaperoned Jedi with a questionalbe history surrounding attachments to educator conferences."

"So, as a veteran educator, do you feel it would be damaging to teach a child by shooting mildly stinging lasers at them?"

Myrette Jervis stared, open-mouthed, at the earnest faces of the four young people in the brown robes. Jedi, she reminded herself. The brown robed contingent came from the Jedi. And they couldn't have the kind of conversation she thought they needed to in a reception hall.

"Alright, anyone wearing a brown robe follow me, _right damn now_ ." Where had _that_ come from? She found herself leading four painfully young people to an empty conference room. "Stay here."

At least the young people seemed well-trained in following orders, if a bit spooked. She sped down the hall, opening doors and beckoning to her colleagues, pulling some of them straight off panels, until she had the group she needed. Two child psychologists, another teacher, a librarian, and a social worker, all people she'd worked with before and could trust.

"Now," she burst back into the room, running a good head of steam.

And was met with three of the four young people shooting to their feet and engaging their lightsabers.

"Put those away, _this minute_ . Honestly, you're in the middle of an intergalactic educators' conference, _not_ the lower levels of that hellscape you call a planet." She'd worked on Tatooine; she was _not_ going to be intimidated by three half-grown children with hair triggers. "And sit down."

"Myrette, what's going on?" Jak Dalesire, one of the psychologists, made himself comfortable in a chair.

"One of the young people here...one of the girls...asked me if shooting mildly stinging lasers at children as a teaching tool would be damaging." Myrette glared in the general direction of the Jedi.

"It's one of the ways we teach 'saber skills." Another Jedi, not the one who asked the question, but a young man masquerading as a small mountain, asked. "They wear helmets with the visor down."

"So...they can't see, and they're being shot at. And this is supposed to teach them?" Max Greskin, the social worker, slipped into a chair, hanging onto his cup of caff like a lifeline.

Myrette wished she'd developed a taste for it.

"They're supposed to use the Force to anticipate the shot and block it."

"How old are they, when they start?" Max again. The rest of her group found seats.

"Six or seven? I think we were six, weren't we Dare?" The young man turned to the girl who'd started everything.

"You people give weapons to six year olds?" Myrette did _not_ want to get between Layla Morri and whomever made _that_ decision. She taught primary classes.

"You may have been five, Dav."

"And they're not fully powered. I think at most you could maybe singe someone a little." Dav clarified, rising and bowing to the room. "Would anyone care for a drink? I can go arrange refreshments for the room?"

With that old-fashioned courtliness, Myrette thought, he could arrange for just about anything he wanted.

"Thanks Dav. That would be much appreciated." The tallest of the women finally spoke.

"Yes, 'Khet. I'll be back shortly."

"And Dare," she continued.

"Yes?" The one they'd called Dare answered.

"Please raise Mints. She'll want to be part of this."

"On it."

"One of our party is currently unable to travel. Do you mind us comming her in?"

Oh, it was neatly done, Myrette had to admit that.

"I think I can speak for all of us and say no, we don't mind. This is...not a usual situation." Myrette allowed.

"No, it most certainly isn't." Dare turned her attention to sorting out the comm equipment.

"So," Jak leaned back in his seat and fixed the young Jedi with a stern look. He _had_ been principal of a secondary school on Corellia for quite some time, and didn't miss much. "My guess is that you all here don't much like how your Order is treating kids, and figured out the most shocking question possible to get some attention."

One of the women who hadn't spoken yet snorted.

"No, the most shocking question would involve booting out anyone over the age of thirteen who hadn't secured private tuition, and using them as unpaid farm labor."

"Lex!" 'Khet smacked her arm, breaking the shocked silence in the room. "Not yet. Dav's not back."

"And you know he has Opinions on that. Hey 'Khet, hey Lex!" A small holograph of a young woman appeared on the little black mat Dare set out.

"Are there any Jedi over thirty?" Kaylin Morri, Layla's cousin and the librarian of the group, spoke up. "You're all...very young."

"We could get clearance to come to a conference. Most of the older Jedi aren't interested, except for a few, and we can be very persuasive. It...wasn't easy to get permission, but we work with the younglings, so we were able to spin something." The one called Lex answered.

Dav bustled (although, how a young man built along the same lines as monumental architecture managed to _bustle_ , Myrette would never know) into the room, followed by a few service droids. They claimed a table and quickly set up a refreshments area before he bowed to the droids and let them out.

"Trust Dav to be able to scare up a buffet service anywhere." Dare grinned at him, knocking her shoulder into his when he sat next to her.

"We all have our talents, and are called by the Force to a life of service." He answered primly, gently bumping her back. "Minty, are you comfortable? In bed, where you're supposed to be?"

"I'm lying down, you mother hen. And we're fine. I've got Reg here with me to cover the teachers, and Ben and Mai, too."

"I didn't hear 'Yes, Dav, I'm in bed.'" Dav pointed out.

'Khet cleared her throat, a soft sound in among the chatter, and all the Jedi fell silent.

"I think," Myrette began. "That you're going to have to give us an overview of how Jedi are raised. We've heard some troubling things so far, but it doesn't do to jump to conclusions."

"Yes, starting with where Jedi children come from." Layla slanted a look at the obviously pregnant girl in the hologram.

"We find them under lothcats." Minty replied drily.

"Mints." Dav spoke quietly, but Minty stiffened and flushed. "We have Jedi who travel through the galaxy to find infants and children up to age six. They're brought to the Temple."

"So, it's all adoption? No children born in the Temple?" Ellis Harmon, the other psychologist, gave Mintaerael a searching look.

"Not now. A long time ago, maybe. Children are given into the care of the Jedi order, either at one of the Temples or as they are found. For people who don't have an understanding, or a history, of Force sensitivity, having a Force sensitive child can sometimes be difficult." Mintaerael explained quietly. "And there's no guarantee that two Force sensitive adults will have a Force sensitive child. It's not genetic, as far as we know, although there are _some_ family lines."

"How are they treated once they're at the Temple?" Max asked, leaning forward and rubbing at his forehead.

"They're raised in the creche until they're about four, when they go into the pre-Initiate dorms. At about six, they go into the Initiate dorms as part of a Clan and Cohort. We're all Raven Clan and 5th Cohort." Lex picked up the thread.

"And after that?" Jak prompted.

"If they're not taken as an apprentice by age 13, they age out and go to Agricorps." 'Khet answered. "They get sent away feeling as if they've failed, being told they're just not good enough, when it's not them but the small number of Knights and Masters willing to take them on."

"And if they're apprenticed?" Myrette twiddled her thumbs, not really wanting to know the answer.

"Mostly, but not always, they move in with their Master, so they can learn one-on-one." Lex put her hand over 'Khet's. "There are Padawan dorms for those who don't reside with their teacher."

"Just like that? Is there a period where they get to know one another?" Jak leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely. These kids all _seemed_ normal. How in the nine hells had _they_ turned out okay? How did any Jedi turn out functional?

"No," Dav snorted. "Not usually. A Master usually asks the Initiate after observing them, sometimes for a very short period. Although, you _sometimes_ know your Master beforehand. It's…an honor to be taken as an apprentice, though, and it's treated as an important milestone in one's life. The transition can be difficult because you don't know what's expected of you."

"And sometimes you're going to have to live with a really bad match, personality-wise. Your skills might make you the apprentice they want, but your personality might not be a good fit with theirs." Mintaerael sighed. "And you _technically_ could get reassigned, but that works better _after_ you've been Knighted, and it generally gets looked at as _your_ failure."

"So everything is on the child, and there's little recourse if things don't work out as everyone hopes they will?" Max rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly looking just as tired as the young Jedi before him.

"Pretty much. Unless the child Falls, of course, and then it's the Master's fault for not seeing it. Never mind that an apprentice is in contact with many adults during the day; it's a direct failing of the Master." 'Khet answered in an offhand tone.

"Falls?" Myrette prompted. She felt like she was playing a game with half the rulebook missing.

"To the Dark Side." 'Khet clarified.

"I'm sorry, but you're going to have to explain that in small words." Layla looked puzzled.

"The Force is what binds us together. It can be...accessed, I suppose, as either the Force or the Dark side, depending on the emotional state and intentions of the Force user. The Dark Side is all the worst of humanity. It corrupts all who touch it. We guard against it, always, although we sometimes disagree as to the methods." Dav explained.

"It's what makes us...us. There are many different views on using the Force as a Force-sensitive, and a lot of the other orders in the galaxy find us rather restrictive. We know, as adults, that releasing our feelings to the Force doesn't mean we can't _have_ them, just that we can't be _owned_ by them. But, for a child…" Mintaerael trailed off, shrugging.

"We're also not supposed to have attachments, although most of us are, well, we probably shouldn't say anything else about that." Dare babbled, wincing as she tripped over the words.

"We're worried, honestly." Lex bit her lip. "There are so many of our children who are turned out to the Service Corps every year, who would make wonderful Jedi, but who can't find a Master. They're made to feel like failures because they have a temper or don't do as well academically or aren't gifted in 'saber forms. People entrust their children to us, and we aren't allowed to _love them_."

"And then we have to watch them get sent away, thinking there's something wrong with them. Or that it was the will of the Force. They're so _bright_ when they're little, and they dim so much as they grow up. It's _awful_." Dare picked up the narrative again.

"So, we were hoping for some advice on how to mitigate the worst bits," Dav rested his hand on Dare's arm. "From professionals. We're teachers and healers and archivists, but we don't have a wider perspective, or the experience that all of you do. We need help."

"Right," Myrette started. "You're all going to...do you have private access to the HoloNet?"

"No one heard me say this, but yes." Minty shifted, rubbing at her back. "We've arranged it."

"Good, at least some of you are planning. You're going to need private accounts so we can send you the materials you need. We all have some things we can send you back with, but you'll need continued support." She'd be damned if she let them down. They'd come to _her_ for help, over everyone else available, and she wanted them to succeed.

"And we'll have updated information for you, sometimes. Or you might have questions. Is there anywhere we could send physical datachips?" Jak asked.

The young people shared a look.

"We can ask Mr. Hadri," Lex decided. "If we tell him _why_ , then I'm pretty sure he'll help."

"Good. I'll definitely send a book list. Do you have a fiction section? Stories are amazingly helpful," Kaylin tapped a reminder into her datapad.

"I think the closest is probably the mythology and comparative religions works?" Minty leaned forward. "Master Nu, our main Archivist, will probably go along with it if I spin it properly."

"Wonderful! What age groups would you be interested in?"

"Birth to death, honestly. On the lighter side, but not too light?" Minty stretched again.

"Mmm, and dealing with transitions and emotions, as well," Kaylin murmured. "And I've got a couple of books I'll send right to you, Archivist Mintaerael. Maybe read 'em with your counselor?" Ellis broke in. "Some other members of your Order may find them helpful, as well."

"Thank you," Minty bit her lip. "That's very kind of you."

"It's what we do."

"And Layla, Myrette, and I should cover the education side of things. I can help with child psych, too," Jak offered.

"That would be fantastic." Dare grinned. "We haven't updated our care guidelines in what, fifty years?"

"More, maybe?" Lex sighed. "We need all the help we can get."

"Well, that's what we're here for. You did the right thing, asking for help." Myrette patted the hand of the Jedi closest to her. The one they'd called 'Khet, maybe? The young woman stiffened for a moment before she relaxed and offered a barely-there smile.

  
All Myrette knew was that she hadn't had quite so much fun in years. Once they got this group trained up right, the Jedi wouldn't know what hit them.


	5. From a Temple's Point of View

They were  _ hers. _

Her beautiful, shining lights in the dark. She felt them, their presence steeped into her walls, even when they traveled through the stars. She shared their joy, their sorrow, their grief, their guilt. But she shared their occasional glee, as well, and the love that connected them to her, and to each other. They disavowed it, shoved it down and released it to the Force, but she knew. 

Just as she knew how they best liked their quarters. They didn't know her, most of them, anyway, but she knew them. And they were hers to keep safe and warm, to give the soft, fragrant ground cover in the gardens, the gentle rush of the fountains, and the most comfortable rooms possible. 

She'd felt the dark as it oozed over the galaxy, tried to warn them, but only a handful heeded her and planned. And at that worst moment, she felt her darling, beloved, shining lights wink out across the galaxy. And darkness marched across her threshold. 

The beautiful, brave Jedi fought...she felt them fight the dark, and felt them return to the Force. Grief stained her hallways, blotting the light she'd always known. Grief and pain ripped at her, howled and shattered the peace of hallways. Fire and hate and rage destroyed her gardens, her respite, but could not destroy  _ her. _

Some, though, those who heeded her, those who planned, they fled out into the vastness of the galaxy, shrouding themselves. 

Even as the dark dragged at her, she felt them out there, dimmed as they were. In the Outer Rim, on planets notorious for their lawlessness...or for the way they sequestered themselves from the galaxy, they clustered. Never too many together, always moving. 

It gave her hope. It gave her strength. Strength to fight back in her own way. To keep the archives locked, and to hide the backup archives completely. To lure soldiers down to the deepest levels, down to where the Force writhed thickly against the dark like slime that slithered through the halls. She lost them there, let the Force have them. She let the little tookas that lived on her lower levels into the vents, let them into meeting rooms and officer quarters and let them do as they would. Let them relieve themselves in the vents and sent warm air over it at the worst times. 

She played with the wiring, with the plumbing, with anything that would let them know they were NOT WELCOME in her halls. 

It wasn't much, but it was what she could do.

And she waited. Slowly, light slipped through cracks in the darkness. Slowly, the tides turned. 

Until she felt the nexus of the dark web over the galaxy die. Felt the brightest light she'd ever housed come back to the Force. Back to the Light. He blazed, supernova bright, with the strength of his connection to the Force. 

And then, and then one day  _ they _ crossed her threshold again. Bright, shining, no longer shrouding themselves against discovery. Her Healers, her Archivists, her Teachers, and...and...no longer infants. The youngest, snatched from their cribs, taken in a panic as her younglings sacrificed themselves (her small, terrified children who stood firm to give her caretakers time to get the babies out), had lived. 

And others with them. Ones she knew, ones she'd  _ lost _ , returned to her care. Skywalker, Jinn, Kenobi--but not as they had been. They were different in the Force, younger and lighter and happier and  _ connected, _ than she had known them to be. Their signatures were alike, but of...another place? Like the small, bouncing presence of a child that was underscored by an adult's gravitas. Slightly out of phase, maybe? But they were  _ hers _ , returned to her.

Her sconces flared, the banners of the invader ripped down from their hooks, the gray durasteel cladding crumpled off her walls. She would not allow her Jedi to return to a hollow shell. Cleaning droids whirred to life in the lower levels, brought back with a nudge to make her their home again. 

She would be their home.

And this time, she would not fail to keep them safe.

 


End file.
